


R U Mine? (Tear me apart)

by ElsaFH (Elsa0806)



Series: Colliding universes [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Drinking, Fluff, Haikyuu!! Manga Spoilers, Introspection, Light Angst, M/M, Pining, Songfic, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, no beta we die like men, universe metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:41:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24279772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elsa0806/pseuds/ElsaFH
Summary: Atsumu feels like a black hole sometimes and Shouyou wonders if it’s because of the raw power crackling around him that seems to suck everyone in.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu
Series: Colliding universes [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1752697
Comments: 16
Kudos: 69





	R U Mine? (Tear me apart)

**Author's Note:**

> I am: a clown.
> 
> See, I wrote [Do I Wanna Know? (Pull me in)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24101125) literally nINE DAYS AGO. But I swear I can't get enough of this ship and just— someone please save me.
> 
> This fic is Shouyou's point of view. There're missing parts and things that weren't in Do I Wanna Know, but it's basically Shouyou pining for Atsumu in almost the same way Atsumu pined for him in the other fic. I wanted to write this for some damn reason and I couldn't get it out of my mind. It felt like the other had one half missing, y'now?
> 
> And of course I had to use a song for this, because I am, like I said, a clown. The song for this one-shot is [R U Mine?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VQH8ZTgna3Q) by Arctic Monkeys. Predictable as heck, I know. Let me have this.
> 
> I recommend reading the other fic so you can just— see them pining for each other. We don't get too much Pining Shouyou and I was very self indulgent. Once again I am projecting my feelings onto fictional characters.
> 
> I hope you guys like it! See ya at the end notes!

Atsumu feels like a black hole sometimes and Shouyou wonders if it’s because of the raw power crackling around him that seems to suck everyone in. He’s strong in so many ways he can’t help but thinks there’s nothing that cannot be crushed underneath the force of his steps and the presence that now and then feels like it’s gonna choke him. He realizes, with a whispered “oh” that yes, Atsumu is very much like a black hole. His strength not only sucks him in, like it’s a forceful action but rather draws him in by pulling at the strings of everything that he is like a puppet dancing to the tune of the master’s fingers. It’s overwhelming, sometimes. Shouyou’s not used to be the puppet— he’s used to be the master. He’s the one who’s got everyone dancing to his tune, although he didn’t realize that until some time ago when he had the chance to compare the way setters behaved around him. But he also realizes it doesn’t matter if he’s the one dancing on the palm of someone else, especially if that someone is Miya Atsumu.

Atsumu feels like a black hole and Shouyou wants to be drawn in. He knows the centre of his soul itself would crush him beneath the weight of his whole gravity centre and yes, it might sound a bit masochist of him to want to be reduced to nothing but stardust, but he knows Atsumu is worthy of such an exaggerated metaphor. There’s no doubt in his mind that if he decided to turn to him and look at him in the same way Shouyou looks at Atsumu, he’d be willingly crushed until there was nothing left of him, not even pieces to put together to try and build him back up again.

Shouyou thinks, amidst ragged breathings and a patina of sweat covering his body and attaching the dampen hair to his temples and forehead, that Atsumu is like the beginning of something new. Back then in high school, Shouyou learned that the universe was born after being released of a gravity so strong it had the capacity of splitting the entire existence in two. Millions of things getting crushed and shaped into a disc that exploded when the axis of the universe couldn’t hold them in any longer, expanding through nothingness itself while chemicals and matter flourished on their way to travel through something that had just been created some seconds ago.

Atsumu has that strength within him and it fills Shouyou’s chest with wonder and delight. He’s so different now than he was on high school, albeit having always had that raw power hanging around him like an aura that threatened to make him lose his step and fall into the void. When his finger pointed at him through the net, all of Shouyou had seemed to fall into place like pieces of a puzzle scattered on a field, planting themselves into the soil and refusing to move if it wasn’t really worth it. The moment his finger pointed at him like a gun aiming to take the best shot possible, the first string was thrown. It attached itself to Shouyou’s chest like a hook and hadn’t moved since then.

_I'm a puppet on a string_

_Tracy Island,_

_Time-traveling diamond_

_Cutter shaped heartaches_

“Say, Shouyou-kun,” Atsumu hums, voice tense and breathy. He dabs at the interior of his right elbow to dry the sweat that roams his jaw, and Shouyou thinks if diamonds embedded into gold. Thinks of dewdrops softly placing themselves over the velvety petals of a sunflower, thinks of the scales of a fish breaking the surface of the water to arch its back into the sunlight. “Was it hard?”

The black hole draws him in. Atsumu speaks and his voice pulls from the strings that tie around Shouyou’s articulations and makes his very atoms shift and change around the centre of his own existence like planets orbiting around the sun. Shouyou’s ears perk up, his head turning towards him without him meaning to because there’s something akin to a gravity centre that pulls him in. Shouyou wants to be pulled in, wants to be crushed underneath everything Atsumu is because there’s a promise of resurrection behind the stardust that swirls like silk moving gracefully under the pull and push of the wind.

“What was it hard, Atsumu-san?” Shouyou asks. He takes a swig of his water bottle, pushes the fresh liquid down his throat with the thirst of a man lost in the desert.

“Bein' in Brazil,” the other elaborates, pressing his chin onto the palm of his hand. His fingers tap absentmindedly on his cheek, fingertips pressing against slightly blushed cheeks, and Shouyou feels the pull of the strings in the mere core of the cells that form his bones, flesh, and skin. Atsumu’s fingers move and so do the atoms that form him, rearranging in different shapes with every tapping against his cheekbone. “It must’ve been complicated, right?”

Shouyou giggles while putting down the bottle. He’s been Atsumu’s spiker for a few months now, but Atsumu had never really asked about his time in Brazil. It felt like a barrier they had yet to take down, demolishing it with every word like a hammer beating on the foundations of it until it crumbled between his fingers like a sandcastle falling apart.

“It was, at first,” he hums. It’s complicated to coordinate the person he was back then with the person he is right now, and the line he walks on feels like the meeting point of both of them. It’s nice, he believes, to have more than one face to put on every morning before heading to work. All of his faces seem to work together in an endless motion, feeding on joy alone, and he’s never felt more joy than when Atsumu smiles down at him with a fondness that seems to melt everything inside of Shouyou. “I had to learn the language, the culture… I even had to learn to eat new food, y’know?”

“Didja enjoy it?”

“Of course!”

It’s not the first time he thinks this is the answer he gives when he doesn’t really know what else to say. He isn’t lying, but he’s not giving away every part existing of the truth either. This is the answer he gives to complicated questions; he doesn’t really know if Atsumu means “did you enjoy _all of it_?”. If he meant that, he’d have to explain the vulnerability he felt before meeting Oikawa in Rio, the feeling of having to learn everything from scratch and how it took him some time to get to enjoy that part of beach volleyball.

Atsumu looks at him, wonder written in the golden specks of his eyes, and Shouyou thinks of constellations aligning for the stargazer he suddenly feels to read.

He doesn’t question him, however. Shouyou wishes he did. Atsumu is a black hole but he seems unsure of sucking everyone in like he should, like Shouyou thinks he _deserves_ to do. If he unleashed all the power of his gravity centre, willingly crushing everyone around him including Shouyou, how beautiful would the new universe that expanded from his axis be?

_Come to find you_

_Four in some velvet morning_

_Years too late_

_She's a silver lining_

_Lone ranger riding_

_Through an open space_

_In my mind when she's not right there beside me_

Shouyou looks at Atsumu, sitting across from him, and thinks of loneliness. His eyes look distant today, more distant than always, because it always feels like he’s built walls around him to keep a safety Shouyou knows is comfortable but also knows doesn’t let anyone in, and that’s lonely. Lonely and miserable, because a black hole needs to consume things to grow. Maybe it’s for the best, he realizes, not allowing himself to crush everything underneath the weight of his immense heart. Black holes collapse when they’ve grown too much, getting sucked into their own gravity centre, disappearing from existence itself. And Shouyou doesn’t want that.

While he takes a swig of his orange juice, he wonders if it’s a good idea to let him pull him in. The gravity centre that consumes everything on its way without a care in the world will eventually pull in its own matter, and that means the end has come. There’s nothing sure behind the promise of a gravity that gives birth to new things, and Shouyou recoils in his attempts of getting drawn in. He doesn’t fathom being the particle that makes Atsumu reach his critical mass. He’s not worthy of it.

He’s found him again, but it feels too late. He doesn’t know how Atsumu’s life was when he got out of high school, doesn’t know what happened with him while Shouyou was in Brazil. There’s little to no information in his head to fill in the blanks left by only having met him twice in his life before being gifted by the universe with Atsumu being his setter. He wants to know, he yearns for the information and the knowledge, but Atsumu looks so distant it feels like he’s kilometres away from his grasp.

The black hole becomes a star before his eyes, backpedalling through the process of evolution. He shines bright and powerful, and Shouyou has the sudden need of looking away from him in fear of going blind. He still holds a gravity centre, and Shouyou knows that it doesn’t matter if he recoils in the process of evolution, doesn’t matter how many times he does it, he’ll always end up as a black hole. That’s the only way stars can disappear.

Starlight doesn’t reach the Earth when it’s produced, either. There’re millions of light-years between what he’s seeing and the moment he’s seeing it, and he’s suddenly afraid of watching a light that no longer exists. Maybe the process of Atsumu turning into a black hole happened years ago, too many for Shouyou to be worthy of witnessing it, and the star that he sees now doesn’t exist anymore.

There’re so many questions and doubts and Shouyou wants to know, but instead of asking, he just gulps down his juice and laughs at something Thomas just said.

He doesn’t want to look at the star that shines so bright in the middle of a black velvety sky in fear of not being able to grasp the time travelling diamond that his entire existence is.

_I go crazy 'cause here isn't where I wanna be_

_And satisfaction feels like a distant memory_

_And I can't help myself,_

_All I wanna hear her say is "Are you mine?"_

Atsumu smiles when Shouyou’s pinky grazes softly against him and Shouyou startles on his spot. He’s apologizing before he realizes it, and he doesn’t really know why he’s doing it because it was an accident. He’s the only one reading too much into such a fluttering touch, something that dies before even being born, and Atsumu calms him down with that patience of his, something that Shouyou’s never known like this. This patience feels so warm, like sunlight bathing his face during the first day of summer.

“No need to apologize. It was an accident, right?”

A thread of laughter that sounds hysterical to his own ears falls from his lips, threads itself with reality and perches on to the corner of his own mind. It echoes through his head and bounces against the walls of his skull as if mocking him for the rabbit-like hammering of his heart. It was just a slight touch, lighter than a feather and briefer than a second, and yet it feels like his atoms have shifted again. He’s not supposed to touch the hands of his master; he’s merely a puppet.

“Of course.”

Shouyou knows he’s blushed to the tip of his ears, but it’s not like he really tries to hide it. It doesn’t matter, after all. Atsumu wouldn’t look at him like that, why would he? Shouyou is just his wing spiker, just a monster dancing to his tune, just a puppet roaming the world as he pleases and until he pleases.

If Atsumu turned on his heels to look at Shouyou like Shouyou looks at him, if he asked him softly if Shouyou was his, there’s not a single doubt in his mind that he’d give in. He’d put all of himself to his disposition and not even question what’s he gonna do with it after. He’s so eager for being crushed and shaped into whatever Atsumu wants that he doesn’t mind the masochism that the entire situation implies.

Because that’s what stars do, isn’t it? They attract everything into their gravity centre, maintain them orbiting around it, and when the time has come, they suck everything in while they collapse on themselves. And the black hole keeps repeating the moment of the star’s death, over and over again, until even they collapse into themselves and life expands from the axis of a new death.

Atsumu feels like the birth of something new and it makes Shouyou’s heart race into his chest, the hammering of his heart against his ribcage like a drum. It counts the second of his own time because he realizes now that hearts are nothing but a clock ticking back time until the moment of death.

His clock feels like it could go on forever, as long as Atsumu keeps smiling down at him like that. But for that, he’d have to constantly be by his side. And oh, he _so_ wants that. He never wants to leave his side but he has no right, and he has gotten used to hating every second that ticks by with Atsumu not being close to him. Shouyou can’t help it, he’s a man in love, and he feels like he’s a child again.

_Well, are you mine?_

_Are you mine?_

_Are you mine?_

Atsumu picks him up when Shouyou’s too drunk to even exist, and his face looks like the pale moon underneath the light of the streetlamps. It’s weird, he believes, while the alcohol has his head spinning and giggles falling from his mouth, that the moon’s floating so low on the ground. Stars spread across existence and join the satellite that seems to materialize itself besides Shouyou but he realizes they’re not stars hanging so low but streetlamps.

But Atsumu’s face still feels like the moon and he wants to pepper kisses all over the surface. His arm around Shouyou’s waist is firm and warm, and the arm that loops loosely around Atsumu’s shoulders wants to squeeze harder, yank him down and press his entire body against his. Shouyou is a puzzle piece and Atsumu is the half that’s missing, like two twins stars dancing across a galaxy of things that suck them in, avert their path, and throw them into new directions.

Does that mean Shouyou’s got a gravity centre too?

“Thank you for picking me up,” he giggles into the crook of his neck. He’s just slipped against the frosted pavement, and now both of Atsumu’s arms are folded around his waist. Atsumu smells of spices and sunlight and everything that feels like a spell on Shouyou and he sighs against the vein that’s beating a little too fast against his cheek.

“’S okay,” Atsumu answers. It’s a sigh, hot, dampen air brushing against Shouyou’s temple. “I had nothin’ ta do.”

Shouyou laughs, the sound falling from his lips and dripping onto Atsumu’s jacket. It feels like water drops, he believes, and in his alcohol-induced haze, he almost sees the colour of the hem darkening under the metaphorical liquid of his joy.

“Who’s got anything to do at three-thirty am?”

Atsumu laughs too, and he feels marveled by the deep sound that vibrates through the marrow of his bones. It feels like an earthquake, shaking all of his and making mountains rise and oceans overflow within him. Shouyou, who’s lived on joy alone his entire life, finds out that Atsumu’s laughter overflows him with it, turns him into an immortal being who can only thank this life to the man that holds him tight against him.

“Me, apparently.”

_I guess what I'm trying to say_

_Is I need the deep end_

_Keep imagining meeting,_

_Wished away entire lifetimes_

_Unfair we're not somewhere_

_Misbehaving for days_

_Great escape_

_Lost track of time and space_

_She's a silver lining climbing on my desire_

Shouyou’s mind spirals. His head overflows with thoughts that he has no right to have but he can’t help to dwell on. He thinks of a bed, of Atsumu’s hands roaming over the entire length of his body. Fingers grazing gracefully over the most sensitive parts of his anatomy, rearranging his atoms and cells until what is left is a new born man. Shouyou yearns for the chance of being that person that starts anew underneath the warmth of the man that now pushes him towards the taxi, sitting him down and closing the door. His sleepy brain can’t help but wonder how Atsumu’s mouth would taste on his, and the electricity that snaps and crackles through his system leaves him breathless and shaky.

Atsumu’s arm is warm against his, both of them sitting in the back of a taxi that roams the city in the same way Shouyou wishes Atsumu’s fingers would over his skin. The thought alone is enough to turn him into a mess of frustration and heat, warmth spreading through his veins, hanging from the end of his nerves.

“Sleep, Shouyou-kun,” Atsumu mumbles. His lips are pressed onto his temple, and Shouyou can’t hear the words; he feels their shape against his skin and deciphers them as if he’s reading Braille with the tip of his fingers. He sighs and lets his head rest against Atsumu’s shoulder, basking in his smell, feeling his entire being hollowing with desire and wanton need. “We’ll be at my place soon.”

Shouyou doesn’t want to. He wants to stay there for as long as possible, getting a taste of his gravity centre. It coats his taste buds with a bittersweet feeling that could equal the joy of his laughter but seems to produce a different effect inside of him. This, _this_ feels like having limited time. The clock that is his heart won’t run forever anymore, and he finds beautifulness in it rather than the sadness one would dwell in at knowing death is on the run, catching up to one’s existence. This precious moment, held in between Shouyou’s fingers, feels like a mirage. An optical illusion he wouldn’t mind dying over, even if he had to cross the desert and fall onto the sand without any more energy to move.

He doesn’t mind because there’s a duality within him. Atsumu’s laughter overflows him with joy, a joy that’s enough for Shouyou to live forever, to turn into an immortal being capable of walk the earth without end on sight. But the gravity that pulls Shouyou in, threatening to crush him beneath its weight, reminds him he’s only human, with limited time to reach his goals and to grasp everything he yearns for.

He falls asleep on Atsumu’s shoulder. His breath is like a lullaby that rocks him into slumber’s arms, a humming in the back of his mind that follows sleep while it squeezes him in between its grasp. They melt together into one while the taxi moves silently across the city, wheels whistling over the pavement while Shouyou dreams about the man that holds him as close as slumber does. Shouyou thinks, in between this oneiric world, that maybe they’re both the same entity. He feels safe and warm and like he’s got eternity unfolding in front of him, and he's never felt quite as alive as he does now albeit being fast asleep on the man he loves’ shoulder.

The realization of love doesn’t shock him, probably because he notices while sleeping. He’s been using “love” as an excuse to justify everything he feels for Atsumu for months now, even years, but only now, sleeping against him, does he realize that it truly is love. It can’t be anything else. The hesitation of falling into the black hole that spirals and moves, never staying still, cannot be anything else. He snuggles closer, half asleep and half awake, and the soft laughter Atsumu puffs out makes him shiver.

Atsumu and his gravity are a promise of something more behind the crushing death and the shift of his shape. A silver lining he’s only able to find underneath the steps of Atsumu. It feels like he might stomp on his heart, break it, tear it apart until the last fiber of his being is exposed and his to mould to his desires. What would he make out of Shouyou? He’s soft clay melting in the middle of his palm, so eager for his fingers building him up into something different he can’t help but ignore the possibility of not having anything else behind the stardust.

_And I go crazy 'cause here isn't where I wanna be_

_And satisfaction feels like a distant memory_

_And I can't help myself,_

_All I wanna hear her say is "Are you mine?"_

He wakes up to the whistle of a kettle. The sound pierces through the reality of his dream, shatters the glass in which he moves as he pleases like the immortal character of a saint in stained glass. The room is dark and the soft glow of the moon barely seeps through the curtains, bathing the bed with a light that cannot give his eyes enough illumination to understand right away where he is.

It’s his nose the one who locates him into existence. It’s his nose the one that tells him that he’s sleeping on Atsumu’s bed, the scent permeating the pillow and the sheets surrounding him, pulling him back into that oneiric reality where Atsumu’s mouth was all over him, hot and demanding, pushing him beyond an edge he knows too well but doesn’t dare to speak of out loud.

He blinks into the darkness of Atsumu’s room and lets his gaze roam the shapes drawn against the weak light of the moon. The world is made out of a bluish-black hue and Shouyou thinks of castles and fantasies. Thinks of nebulae spinning light-years from him, of stardust swirling through the air like silk under the push and pull of the wind.

Sliding off of the bed, Shouyou groans and takes a look at the lower half of his body. The jeans are strangling his legs, the waistband digging into his skin. He’s not wearing shoes, so he pops the button and steps out of his pants, sighing in content when the pressing of the fabric is finally gone.

He paddles over the rug, opens the door, and the blue and black world extends right there where his eyes can reach. He doesn’t know Atsumu’s apartment and he’s still groggy from sleep and the alcohol that little by little retires from his system, but he’s not quite sober yet. He doesn’t even know how he got there; the last thing he remembers is falling asleep on Atsumu’s shoulder with his breathing like a lullaby pressing against his eardrums, caressing the end of his nerves like feathers.

The path from the room to the source of the whistling is short and foggy; he can’t really register it his brain. He registers, however, that the whistle of the kettle was only the meaning the universe had of waking him up. What really threw him face-first into reality was the fact that he wanted Atsumu wrapping around him, not only his scent. The frustration leaves a bone-deep ache that makes him grimace, the constant feeling of lacking something weighing on his back like a ton of bricks.

He wants to get rid of the feeling, wants to bask in Atsumu’s presence if only for one night. This wasn’t planned, none of it; not the call, not the fact that Atsumu _himself_ went out of his way to pick him up because he’d overdone it with the sake. The fact that he slept on his bed wasn’t planned either, but he’s not gonna complain about having his scent clinging to him like he’s been clinging to the joy Atsumu brings into his life.

The kitchen looks surreal, shapes and angles and curves basking in the soft, blue glow of the moon and the even bluer glow of the fire underneath the kettle. The source of the whistling sits on top of the stove, and the steam seems to shoot itself from the spout. It’s the only thing that looks alive in the kitchen, even when Atsumu’s hip is pressed against the corner.

Right there. That’s where Shouyou wants to be.

_Well, are you mine? (are you mine tomorrow?)_

_Are you mine? (or just mine tonight?)_

_Are you mine? (are you mine? Mine?)_

“Atsumu-san?”

Shouyou’s head spins. The dream is still fresh in his mind, he can almost still feel Atsumu’s fingers roaming over his frame, drawing the edge of his muscles and dipping into the hollows of his anatomy. His voice comes out raspy and hard. If it’s due to the slumber that’s still weighing down on him or due to the difficulty of _speaking_ when he still has the images of Atsumu towering over him moving in slow motion in the furthest part of his brain, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t give it too much thought, either.

“Ah, Shouyou-kun. Thought ya were asleep.”

Atsumu’s voice pulls from the strings tied around Shouyou’s articulations and he has to stomp on the need of taking a step forward until it lies death underneath the sole of his bare foot.

“I was. The whistle of the kettle woke me up.”

His voice sounds accusatory in his own ears and he cringes. He didn’t want to sound like that but it’s hard to control his tone and his words when he’s still shaking off lust’s fingers from his limbs.

“Ah, shit, sorry. Didn’t think ya’d woke up ‘cause of that.”

He lusts for the man that reaches out to turn off the stove, yearns for those fingers replacing lust’s on him and his mouth goes dry at the mere idea of that dream becoming a reality he can touch and shape into fulfilment.

He laughs at the stupidity of the idea. Laughs because even if he left Atsumu’s gravity centre pull him in and crush him in the core of that black hole his existence is, there’s nothing that can assure him that he’s gonna get exactly what he wants. Laughs because it’s hard for him to picture Atsumu wanting to be his as much as Shouyou wants to be Atsumu’s.

Atsumu coughs to clear his throat and Shouyou wonders how many hours has it been since he spoke. His voice sounds as raspy as Shouyou’s, and the love that overflows his heart leaves him breathless. It’s like a punch to the gut but he’d be lying if he said he hated the feeling.

“Ya want some tea?” he offers. Shouyou smiles, sighing so softly even his own ears have problems catching the sound. Atsumu’s kindness is unique in the world, and he wants nothing else but to sink himself into it. “I was makin’ some.”

“That’d be great, thanks.”

_And the thrill of the chase_

_Moves in mysterious ways_

_So in case I'm mistaken,_

_I just wanna hear you say_

_"You got me, baby. Are you mine?"_

_Yer killin’ me, Shouyou-kun_.

 _He’s_ the one killing Atsumu?

 _You’re killing me too, but you don’t see me complaining_.

The lights flicker on and Shouyou’s eyes press themselves into his skull, his eyelids fluttering closed at the sudden change of the illumination in the kitchen. His hands fly to his face, his knuckles rubbing against his closed eyes to get rid of the red stars that dance across his vision and blind them even when he cannot see the world that surrounds him.

“Owie,” he complains. He sounds like a child even to his own ears.

“Sit down,” Atsumu invites in a gulp, probably still getting used to the hard light basking them and the kitchen from above their heads. “I’ll pour ya some tea.”

Shouyou doesn’t care about the tea. Doesn’t care about anything else, and lets the words come out of his mouth. He’s still drunk enough to be brave, and the main objective of his night out vanishes into thin air as if it had never existed in the first place: he’d thought maybe getting drunk would save him from one night without dreaming of him. That maybe the haze of the alcohol could numb his brain enough for him to be thrown into a peaceful slumber, but he’d been _so wrong_. So mistaken he feels stupid now, while the words fall from his mouth and he tells Atsumu everything he’s wanted to say for what feels like ages now.

And Atsumu is _so dense_ that Shouyou wants to slap him. And so he does, albeit not literally. After all his discourse, all the words he’s pushed out of his mouth, Atsumu still doesn’t understand, and the frustration that builds in Shouyou’s chest ends up breaking his resolve to not fall into the black hole that Atsumu is. He really doesn’t care about being the particle that’d make him reach his critical mass. At this point, he cares less about thinking and more about doing.

So he slaps him, albeit not literally. He’s not one for metaphors applying to his words. They usually stay on his brain, hidden from everyone so he doesn’t need to explain them. It gets tiring after a few attempts. But he brings the metaphor to life when he slaps Atsumu with words because he wouldn’t dare to touch him physically.

“I’m trying to say I’m in love with you, but you’re denser than I am.”

“Yer drunk.”

“Sorta. But I’ll still be in love with you tomorrow.”

“Shouyou-kun.”

Shouyou smiles. He likes the way his name sounds in Atsumu’s mouth like his tongue caressed ever so carefully the syllables of a word with no meaning beyond being attached to his existence. Names and words are only there because someone decided they meant something, and right there, in the exact moment Atsumu’s gravity centre pull him in and he dares to be the single particle that pushes him to reach his critical mass, is when he decides that his name has never meant _more_ than it does when Atsumu’s voice gives shape to the symbols in his head.

“If you’re gonna reject me…”

“That’s the thing. I ain’t.”

Shouyou falls. The gravity of the black hole that Atsumu is finally makes him lose his step, and he falls into the void that promises to spit him out reborn and reshaped into something that only exists in Atsumu’s mind. He doesn’t care if he needs to be destroyed to be born anew, because he knows destruction and creation are both sides to the same coin. They both walk hand in hand across the universe and existence itself, and Shouyou realizes, while he stands up and gets closer to Atsumu, that he’s not a black hole. He’s the meeting point between destruction and creation, the joint formed by their fingers intertwined, overlapping on each other. He’s been wrong all this time.

Atsumu doesn’t have a gravity centre akin to that of a black hole. He has no gravity centre whatsoever; he’s creation and destruction, all in one perfectly shaped body, hidden behind a crooked smile that makes Shouyou’s knees go weak.

Atsumu’s cheeks are scalding hot underneath the tip of his thumbs. His breath brushes against Shouyou’s lips, and he wants nothing else than to lean in and press himself into him. He’s so close and his heart beats so fast, and the world seems to stand still. The clock that is his heart seems to count more seconds than the ones that die in reality, but he doesn’t mind.

“So?”

“’m not sure ya’ll remember this tomorrow.”

Shouyou doesn’t tell him that he’s never forgotten anything about him. He even remembers the color of his voice when he called him a scrub. He remembers the taste that coated his mouth when he finally spiked one of his tosses. He remembers the feeling of Atsumu’s hand against his when he came down of his jump to land on the linoleum floor, the celebration sparkling thunders and lightning bolts through his skin. 

“Trust me, I will.”

“What if ya don’t?”

Shouyou enters Atsumu’s personal space and basks in the warmth that comes from his skin.

“I won’t forget.”

“Ya still drunk?”

“A tiny bit.”

Atsumu’s mouth is scalding hot, too. His lips seem to melt all of Shouyou when he ever so slightly brushes his against Atsumu’s, shuddering under the sensation. Electricity sparks through his system, steals his breath away, and turns him into a disaster of exposed nerves. He wants more, more, _more_ , chases the feeling into the darkest depths of his mind.

“Doesn’t matter. Just kiss me,” he sighs against Atsumu’s mouth.

And so he does.

His mouth moves over Shouyou’s and he melts once again, his knees trembling underneath the weight of his body. It feels like Atsumu’s right hand is destruction and his left is creation, and he tears Shouyou apart in between his fingers as if he was sinking them into the foundations of a sand castle. Shouyou crumbles under his mouth and shapes back into something different when Atsumu’s fingers touch him, ten fingertips pressing against his back and he moans, eagerness demanding to be fed. He wants to crumble and be reshaped over and over again. Doesn’t matter what it takes, he never wants this process to end.

He presses himself into Atsumu, swallows the moans and groans that spill from his mouth and seem to walk on their linked tongues like a bridge that makes them collide and become one. Maybe there’s some truth to the idea of Atsumu being a black hole, but the idea of him being both destruction and creation at the same time sounds more appealing. A black hole doesn’t give anything else but promises of something beyond its core. Destruction and creation turn these promises into facts.

He knows it because he’s died a thousand deaths under Atsumu’s mouth, and has been born anew a thousand times under the touch of his fingers.

He’s panting against Shouyou’s mouth, and Shouyou knows his breathing is as ragged as the other’s. He pays it no mind because Atsumu’s eyes are open now, and the stars he found some time ago are rearranging and forming new constellations he’s eager to register in his memory.

“How could I forget _this_?” he whispers, kissing him again. The touch is short and fluttering because he needs to recover from all those resurrections he’s lived in the short span of minutes. “I’ve wanted this for _ages_.”

Atsumu kisses him again. Shouyou dies and comes back to life, crumbles and reshapes and _spins_. He’s too far gone to care about anything else; he just wants to melt into Atsumu and become whatever he wants Shouyou to be.

“I’m sorry for telling you like this,” he mumbles, gasping at the feeling of Atsumu’s nails digging into the skin of his back. It feels like fire setting his entire being ablaze and he arches into the touch, chasing death and life once again. “I just— _ah_ , I thought I’d be braver with a few drinks on me…”

Bullshit. He wanted to sleep without dreaming of him because he was tired of those fantasies that he thought would never become true.

“What?” Atsumu blabbers. Shouyou’s fingers pull at the short, soft hair on Atsumu’s nape and he shudders. Shouyou swallows the moan that licks the back of his throat and lets out a shaky sigh. “Ya thought five am was a good time for a love confession?”

Shouyou ponders. He didn’t even mean to confess. It sort of _happened_. And now he’s there, kissing Atsumu like there’s no tomorrow even though he knows there’s one because there’s no chance of anything ending when creation and destruction hold him close like this.

“There’re… things that sound better in the dark.”

Atsumu chuckles. His laughter sparks joy within Shouyou and he feels a shiver crackling down his spine.

“Turn off the lights, then.”

Atsumu feels like a black hole sometimes. But now Shouyou knows that’s not quite right. Atsumu is the meeting point between destruction and creation, walking hand in hand through Shouyou’s own existence. He’s died a thousand deaths and lived a thousand lives underneath the warmth of his lips and the scorching fire of his fingertips. His atoms have shifted and rearranged themselves so many times with each tap of Atsumu’s fingers he can’t believe it took him so long to realize that destruction and creation have found a vessel.

And when he turns off the lights, said vessel dives in for another kiss, flips their positions and push him against the counter. His knee finds its place in between Shouyou’s thighs and he moans his name.

He’s once again torn apart and shaped into something new, and he’s eager to see what Atsumu will come up with the next time the process begins again.

**Author's Note:**

> That's all from me for now! I really hope I don't get the burning need of writing something else before the AtsuHina Week or I'm seriously gonna die. The burn out. I can feel it breathing on my neck.
> 
> I really hoped youu liked it ♥
> 
> Come scream at me in Twitter! @Xhiiluh


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